


The Distant Future

by becbecboom



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becbecboom/pseuds/becbecboom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt at rounds_of_kink on LJ: <i>Helena as a fire-and-brimstone preacher and Rachel as an android.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Distant Future

Rachel attends the service every Sunday morning: listening, watching, observing. She gathers all available information and stores it neatly away, filed and catalogued into discrete databases: habits, reactions, vulnerabilities, beliefs, tenets of the faithful.

A taxonomy of _sin_ , she thinks.

She assesses ratios: hope relative to misery; poverty relative to faith, but finds it impossible to reach a logically sound conclusion, no matter how many times she reruns the calculations. 

Sister Helena is a popular preacher in this part of town. Her congregation is mostly poor and unkempt; the lower class of the city, looking for something, anything to lift them out of their woes, even if only for an hour or two. Rachel makes no effort to blend in, does not disguise herself, her hair and dress as immaculately perfect as ever. Her program would not allow her to be anything less.

She likes to sit in the front row, and no matter how crowded the hall becomes, no one will ever join her. She knows her persona is one that inspires mistrust and fear in most humans, a conscious design choice that she mostly tends to find advantageous

"Surrounded, we are," Sister Helena says, softly, and Rachel can sense the congregation behind her leaning forward, holding their breaths as one, desperate to catch every word. "They are here," she says, louder now, "in our midst, innocence corrupted, machines of filth and lies."

Rachel records the level of oxygen in the room, rising and falling as lungs expand and contract. There are murmured words of agreement, a few quiet but fervent cries of _Amen_ , and there's something else in the air, something that Rachel's analysis can't quite break down into its component parts.

She's immersed in the measurements, taking energy from her visual cortex, and when she refocuses, Sister Helena is looking at her, eyes narrowed, mouth curled up in an oddly gentle yet somehow venomous smile. Her arm is outstretched, one accusing finger pointing straight in Rachel's direction.

"I know," she says, poison in her voice, "what you are."

The gathered crowd gasps, and Rachel's circuits flare, heat rising through her. She desperately scans her temperature controls, running a rudimentary fix to prevent herself from overheating, knowing if there's any kind of confrontation she'll be helpless.

But Sister Helena moves on, and the congregation settles, listening intently as she speaks of snakes in the garden, dirt and artifice and greed.

The service is eventually over, the church emptying quickly, but Rachel remains, sitting upright, staring ahead at the crude altar. She should leave, she knows, she's programmed to leave, to gather information only rather than directly interact with her subjects, but still, she remains.

Something keeps her in place, some unnamed force. _Something greater than oneself_ , she recites silently, and there's that same, brief, inexplicable spark of warmth.

Sister Helena sits down next to her, the silence of the now-deserted hall heavy around them. For a minute or two she doesn't speak, and Rachel stares ahead of her, waiting.

"You are machine," Helena finally says, "but you are here, you want to believe." 

Rachel turns to look at her. "I'm merely an observer," she replies, and her settings mean her tone should be one of cool neutrality, but there's a break in the last word, a faltering hesitation. 

"You want," Helena croons to her, sliding closer, "you long, you _yearn_." Her hand is on Rachel's thigh and her voice is low as she says, "I _know_ you, machine."

Rachel wants to contradict her, say _no_ but somehow her mouth won't form the sound. Helena's hand is sliding up under her skirt, and Rachel's core temperature is rising, steady and inexorable. She tries desperately to regulate her responses, but instead finds herself opening her legs, pressing her body closer to Helena's.

She registers the scent of arousal, of sweat and secrets.

"Perfect copy," murmurs Helena, her fingers sliding into the wetness between Rachel's legs, finding the place that makes her gasp, uncontrolled.

And these reactions aren't correct, she's not programmed for… _this_ , her central power unit so overloaded she knows she's in danger of failing. She grabs hold of Helena's wrist, trying at least to stay steady, not lose her balance as the feeling grows within her, becoming larger and more overwhelming, almost unbearably intense.

"Created by man," Helena whispers in Rachel's ear, stroking harder, her breath hot, fiercely irregular. "You are abomination."

There's a flash of sparks, and a burning smell. Everything is awash in yellow light, almost vibrating with it and when Rachel looks at Helena, she's glowing, hair a golden halo around her head.

And Rachel _sees_ , she understands. She _believes_ , the knowledge of it rushing in on her like the sensation of falling; a weightless euphoria.

 _Rapture_ , she thinks, but aloud she whispers, "Yes."

The room is lit up like the sun, but Rachel tumbles down into darkness, deep and unending.  



End file.
